


A Nice Little Business

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:02:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For readers who perhaps have never read any of my Business as Usual story, let me quickly say that it follows the unlife of the vampire lady referred to by Spike in The Replacement, when, sarcastically, he tells the Scoobies that he has been having a cup of tea with the lady who runs a tea-stall in the local garbage dump.  And I wondered...what if he wasn’t being sarcastic?   Agnes Pringle immediately waved at me and insisted I tell her story.   English spinster, splendid cook, very reluctant vampire (It Was Not Her Fault), and close friend of Richard Wilkins III and Spike.</p><p>At the end of Season Six, Agnes returned to England to avoid the Apocalypse, bringing with her several adopted vampire children she was trying to raise.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A Nice Little Business

Chapter One A Brave New World

Looking back on the incident in the weeks that followed her big mistake, Agnes Pringle decided that the blood treacle sponge pudding was probably to blame. It was a new recipe she was trying for the first time and, she had to admit, it was a tad on the heavy side. If she hadn’t eaten a second helping she wouldn’t have felt so drowsy and she certainly wouldn’t have fallen asleep where she shouldn’t.... 

Agnes had begun the evening with the best of intentions. She’d been back in England for some time now, living in the cottage bought for her with dear Richard’s money, deep in the New Forest but close enough to the town of Ringwood for major supplies. Although to be honest, Richard Wilkins III’s idea of a cottage had turned out to be a large, rambling old farm house with plenty of rooms, which was ideal for the vampire children she’d brought with her from America.

She missed her life in California more than she’d thought she would; the few English vampires she’d met since her return seemed rather - unadventurous. Oh nice people - some newly Turned and uncertain about death, one or two who’d been around for some time. All nice, but - set in their ways. 

Her thoughts often went to memories of her time in Sunnydale - her lovely Willow-Tree tea-rooms just two doors away from The Magic Box, her customers - both Turned and Unturned and she wondered if Spike had ever returned from Africa, if he’d continued his very odd, alarming relationship with Buffy Summers. Such an odd girl! She would have loved to have known how Clem was faring and if that nice demon girl, Anya had found her true romance yet. The apocalypse that she’d been told was coming obviously hadn’t happened because, as far as she knew, America was still there. That was the trouble with apocalypses, Agnes, decided, they tended to make people over-react.

But apart from those nostalgic memories, Agnes would have been quite happy to have spent the rest of her unlife pottering around her garden under the trees on gloomy days (and England, unlike California, had many of those). There was a village a mile away down the lane with a useful butcher’s shop for blood, a thriving church community and she’d plucked up the courage to join the Womens’ Institute - she did so love singing Jerusalem and, of course she prided herself on her jams. She could only attend an occasional meeting because so much of her time was spent caring for the young American vampires in her charge.

And that was the problem: the children were bored. They missed their American way of life but accepted that they were safer here in England. To their dismay, Agnes had discovered Gerald, an elderly retired teacher vampire living quietly in the town of Lyndhurst who’d agreed to teach the children for a few hours every week. He’d been delighted because vampire children were so rare he’d never thought his particular skills would be called on again. 

So that part of their lives was cared for. No it was the play area that was the problem. Apart from trying after dark to ride the wild ponies who lived in the woods and were far too cautious of vampires to be caught, there was very little for them to do. Some nights Agnes drove them all to the coast in the new van that she’d learnt to call a People Carrier and they swam from the beach at Bournemouth - but she knew they missed the network of tunnels they’d roamed through at will back in Sunnydale. Miles of passageways where they didn’t have to worry about the sun coming up or their Aunt Aggy fussing about their safety.

Above all there was the problem of helping the children cope with vampire life. Agnes still felt woefully ill-equipped for this task, especially where the bigger boys were concerned. How she wished she’d managed to get Spike to give them some serious talks before he went rushing off to Africa.

“I’m sure other vampires must have been faced with the same problem,” she sighed to Gerald one evening as the children were sitting around his living-room table, their heads bent over their school work. “You’d think there would be some advice books written about it. There’s plenty of ”Thirty Ways to care for your Fangs” and “A beginner’s guide on how not to get staked when hunting your evening meal” but no one seems to have bothered about how to raise children successfully.”

Gerald munched the head off of one of Agnes’ special gingerbread men. “Well, they are a rarity, Miss Pringle. Until you arrived from America with your little friends, I don’t think I’d seen a vampire under the age of about fifteen or so.” He munched some more, savouring the blood flavouring, then said, “I wonder if the Watcher Library would have anything relevant?”

“Didn’t that get destroyed up in London in some dreadful explosion? I heard a rumour when I was in town recently.”

Gerald nodded. “Yes, very bizarre, completely flattened the building and usefully killed an enormous number of Watchers. Life was very pleasant for a little while - no vampire hunting at all for weeks and weeks. But then something changed. There seems to be a lot of potential Slayers around now, being trained. I think it’s disgraceful, personally. What’s happening to the world when traditions can be overturned, just like that. One Slayer - it’s the oldest rule in our world. Now they’re everywhere. I wrote a strong letter to the Vampire Times saying I was disgusted by the whole affair.” His eyes shone gold as he vamped out.

Agnes tried hard to be patient. Gerald could be an old fuddy-duddy when he chose and although she, too, was a great believer in tradition, one had to move with the times. She’d even been tempted to buy a mobile phone, what Eric and Nancy called a ‘cell’, but she didn’t actually know anyone to call. “Yes, I’m sure it’s all very vexing, Gerald, but what about the Watcher Library?”

“Oh, well, apparently, like bureaucrats everywhere, they had a back up collection that’s been in existence for centuries. Jobs for the boys, if you ask me. But still, if there’s ever been a book written about raising vampire children, that’s where you’ll find it. The library is housed in a little town called Alresford, just outside Winchester. You probably know it.”

And Agnes did. The house where she’d been born and raised was on the outskirts of Winchester and her first, dearly loved tearooms, Ye Olde Willow Tree Tea-Shoppe, had been within sound of the Cathedral, even if not grand enough to be within sight. She’d often thought about driving past one night now she was back, but it would be so awkward if anyone saw her - although if she was honest, most of her friends and acquaintances, if any were still alive, were now far too old to be out on the streets after dark. As, of course, she would have been too if it had not been for the unfortunate advent in Hollywood, which had Not Been Her Fault, which was a very odd thought.

But Alresford with its wide street, old coaching inns and wonderful Georgian houses in pretty pastel colours, well, she knew no one there. What possible harm would it do to discover where the Watcher Library was situated, how easy it would be to access their books? If there was even a slim chance of finding one that could help her - especially with the bigger boys who had recently started talking about hunting humans - it was worth a risk or two.

On her next visit to Gerald’s, she’d cooked them all a meal before the school work began. Gerald was a widower - his wife had sadly not survived being bitten by Gerald when he was Turned - and as far as Agnes could see, existed on bags of pig blood and Weetabix. The mixture reminded her strongly of Spike and she found herself sighing as she dished out a nice raw liver casserole and the little blood flavoured dumplings the children liked so much. Then she gave them her new recipe - the blood treacle sponge pudding - before telling Gerald that she was driving into Alresford and would collect the children when she returned.

The little town was quiet when she arrived. It had begun to rain and the streets were shining like burnished steel under the street lamps. The first two passers-by Agnes asked had no idea where the Library might be, but eventually she was directed to a large house, tucked away behind the church.

There were lights on but the door was shut and Agnes hesitated, peering out from under her frilly pink umbrella. There were so many rules and regulations regarding vampires entering buildings. She thought this would count as a public place, but what if it was still classed as a private house and she bounced off some invisible barrier? Then suddenly a man pushed past her, ran up the steps to the door and rang the bell. Agnes walked up behind him as the door opened and he vanished inside. She hesitated on the doorstep - oh dear, why was life so complicated? - when a voice said, “Don’t stand there dithering, woman. Come in - you’re letting in the rain!”

“Oh thank you! How kind! So sorry.” Agnes flustered her way inside, slamming shut her umbrella and apologising again as a shower of droplets scattered across both the highly polished floor and the man’s highly polished shoes.

“I take it you are the new cleaner from the agency. They said you would be late.” He peered down at Agnes, his attitude one of bored indifference.

“Cleaner? Well, no, you see, my name is Agnes Pringle and - ”

“Oh, I suppose you object to being called a cleaner these days. What is the fancy name, I wonder. Building supervisor, floor superintendent?” He laughed briefly and waved his hand dismissively towards the back of the house. “Anyway, all the brushes and dusters are in a cupboard down that passage. Please start with the main library, which is upstairs. And don’t cut corners. We are expecting important visitors and want it all spick and span by morning.”

An hour later Agnes was sitting in a high backed leather chair, her raincoat, umbrella and the cleaning implements stacked neatly in a corner, out of the way. The vast library, lit by two very dim reading lights, had shelves grey with dust that towered above her head: rows and rows of old books and manuscripts. The very sight of them had made her head spin when she’d first entered the room and her resolution had wavered. Without help it would be impossible to find what she wanted. She’d tried, hoping that perhaps the books were arranged alphabetically by subject, so Children would be easy enough to find. But it was a hopeless task. She found interesting and fascinating essays and notes about vampires through the ages and in an encyclopaedia of demons, severaL pictures of old friends. But nothing about children.

“Really, I thought these Watchers had collected every single piece of information about vampires over the years,” she muttered crossly. “They’ve been boasting about it for centuries. I could write a book with more details than some of these have.”

Agnes yawned - it was warm in the library and the big leather chair was very comfortable. She would have a long drive back through the rain so she would just close her eyes for five minutes to clear her head.....she wouldn’t sleep, of course,....that would be wrong.....

“B - I wish you’d stop this stupid pretending!”

Agnes woke up with a start, clutching the book to her chest. She’d been asleep! A vampire of her experience - sleeping when there were Watchers around. She felt deeply ashamed: Spike would have been disgusted at such behaviour. She would never forgive herself if she got staked. What would happen to the children if she became a little pile of dust on the shiny library floor?

Two people had come into the room but thank goodness they couldn’t see her because she’d slid down the chair and its high back was towards them. She would just sit quietly until they left. But the next voice she heard made all the hairs on the back of her neck wriggle as they always did when a Slayer was around.

“Faith - leave me alone. I’m not pretending. Everything’s great.” 

The blood sponge pudding in Agnes’s stomach turned over twice in quick succession. She would have known that voice anywhere. Buffy Summers, vampire slayer! Here - in England! She’d hoped upon hope that she’d been killed in the earthquake that had struck California a few weeks ago. But obviously luck was not on the vampire world’s side.

“Everyone else tiptoes round you and just accepts all the crap you hand out. This happy-clappy Buffy. Big smiling fun girl. Well, the rest of your merry little gang might swallow it, but I don’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I be happy? First defeated, apocalypse vanished, lots of potential slayers training everywhere. All good.”

“And Spike?”

“Spike’s gone.” Buffy”s voice had an odd quality; it was as if the words were made of ice and could shatter if you touched them. “He died to keep us all safe.”

Before she could stop herself, Agnes let out a squeak of pure distress, vamped out and back, then froze as the Slayer said, “What the heck was that?”

“Mice, I expect. Old building, lots of paper. Place is running with them. But don’t change the subject, B. You know that you loved him - why are you pretending?”

“Spike was my friend, he got a soul to make himself a better man and he died for a good reason. It doesn’t matter what I felt about him. That’s all in the past. And anyway, what about you and Robin? Talk about giving a guy mixed signals. First of all you’re both off to Cleveland, all joined at the hippy, now you’re over here with Giles and me for this Watcher Conference, all mad face and not answering your cell when he calls. Did you have a fight?”

“Can’t be bothered to argue with guys. Walking away saves a lot of trouble.”

“But why walk away from Robin? You were good together.”

“Hey, you said it first, B. All in the past.”

Agnes tried not to moan - her feet had gone to sleep and hurt. But that was nothing to the pain she felt at losing Spike. Had he died in the Californian earthquake? It seemed very unlikely. Vampires were usually the first to sense problems in the earth’s crust and move themselves out of the area. She wondered if he had, in fact, been dusted and who couldl have done it; obviously not Buffy Summers who was now sounding brisk, bringing the conversation to a close.

“OK, I’m going to find Giles and see if this place can produce a cup of coffee before we start work.”

Agnes heard light footsteps, then the door shutting. Every part of her body ached with sitting so still and her eyes were blurred with tears she knew she had no time to shed. She would grieve for her friend when she got home. Now she just had to concentrate of getting out of the Library. She staggered to her feet, still clutching the book she’d been reading, turned and then gasped as a dark haired girl glanced up from where she was running her fingers along a row of books.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t know anyone was here.” Faith could see that the older woman - from her old-fashioned dress and sensible shoes, it was obvious she was some sort of librarian - must have been asleep. Her hair was ruffled and untidy and her eyes had the watery look of someone who’d just woken up. She also looked apprehensive - perhaps she thought Faith was going to report her to her boss for sleeping on the job.

“I was - er - reading.” Agnes said, edging slowly towards the door, still clutching the heavy volume in her arms.

“Hey - library - books!” Faith smiled, then her expression changed as she continued, “I was wondering - do you have a card index I could look at?”

Agnes had one hand on the door, a single step and she would be out of the room. But at the girl’s words, she felt extremely annoyed. A card index! Of course! That would have made her task so much simpler. Really, she must stop eating blood sponge pudding for her supper. It obviously did not agree with her.

“I’d like to find out more about a guy I knew once...in America...a demon sort of guy. His name was Richard Wilkins III.” 

Agnes turned as her legs simply refused to take her another step and she sank into a chair. “I...I’ve heard of him,” she replied, wondering what this girl would say if she knew Richard Wilkins had proposed marriage to the woman in front of her, followed when she’d fled from him and looked after her from whatever dimension he was existing in at the moment. 

“OK, that’s cool.” The girl smiled. “I’m Faith. One of the American conference gang. We’re late.” The stressed look on the older woman’s face made her say, “ Hope you haven’t been waiting up for us?”

“No - I often work through the evening,” Agnes said honestly. “Why did you want to know about Mr Wilkins?”

A shadow slid across the American girl’s face. “He was - well, let’s just say I trusted him and that makes him special. Hey, where men are concerned, that makes him unique! But I never knew that much about him. His life before Sunnydale, where he came from, that sort of thing.”

Suddenly Agnes was back in her bedroom in Sunnydale when Richard had appeared in the middle of the night - really, demons had no sense of decorum - to tell her to leave because of an apocalypse that was about to happen. He’d mentioned someone called Faith and Agnes had gathered that not only was she a Slayer, she was someone who had touched whatever he had instead of a heart. So this was Richard’s Faith - a pretty face, no striking that was a better word. She looked confident, one of those girls who feared nothing and no one, never doubted her actions or decisions. Tough, brash, the sort of person whose real emotions would never be shown, never disclosed. You could torture this girl to tell you what she felt and she never would. But there was something darker in her expression that intrigued Agnes. Dark and, yes, as stupid as it seemed, vulnerable. She could well imagine that this deeper side had attracted Richard: he fed off darkness and vulnerability. It made him feel better to help those he liked. After all, look what he’d done for her?

“I remember reading an entry about him in one of these books,” Agnes said, waving her hand vaguely at the hundreds of volumes lining the walls.

“Don’t have time to stop and search now. There’s a meeting upstairs in ten minutes.” Faith looked bored and exasperated. “Sometimes I think if I have to sit through one more discussion about training potentials, I’ll scream! Or kill someone. Or both. So, can you remember what the book said?”

Agnes hesitated: she could sense that Richard had meant a great deal to this girl. She’d apparently trusted him - trusted one of the most deadly demons the world had ever known! Well, Agnes had done the same. Trusted him not to kill her, to be loyal, too loyal sometimes. A silly phrase from an old book ran through her brain, “Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen in Narnia.” Well, once a friend of Richard Wilkins III, always a friend of Richard Wilkins III.

“Have you asked the other Slayer - Miss Summers ? I heard she’d known him.”

Faith had moved across the Library to where a giant globe of the world stood. She spun it violently, watching the seas and continents blur blue. “Known him? B destroyed him! Not going there with her. It was the mission. Can’t blame her.” 

‘But you do,’ Agnes thought, a wave of pity sweeping over her. ‘You always will. Buffy Summers and all the others who were involved.’

She was so tempted to say that you couldn’t actually kill a demon such as Richard Wilkins. Not forever. Whatever you did to his body, the demon spirit just waited in an alternative universe to be born again. Would knowing that make Faith feel better? Agnes hesitated: perhaps that little nugget of information was best kept to herself. After all, Richard had told her when they were having a romantic dinner one evening: candlelight and blood wine could make even that master of evil indiscreet.

“Did he - did he have any family? I know demons do, sometimes.”

“There was mention of a wife,” Agnes said gently.

“No kids?” Turning away, Faith threw the remark over her shoulder, as if it was of no importance. 

“Children? No. Well - ” Agnes saw the girl’s head drop then the long black hair was shaken back and she squared her shoulders as if to repel an enemy. Before she was Turned, Agnes hadn’t believed in lying and even after she’d acquired her demon, she was still sure it was wrong. But this was the truth, only she wasn’t going to be completely accurate as to how she knew it. Richard had given her so much: this was something she could do for him.

“There was a rumour that he’d adopted a human girl in America. Oh not officially, of course. But there was someone he was extremely fond of; that he considered to be the daughter he’d always wanted, apparently. But, as I say, it was just a rumour.”

“She must have been way messed up for that to happen. What normal girl would choose to get that close to a monster? Not the sort of girl guys would want to keep in their lives long term.”

Agnes winced at the bitterness in Faith’s voice: remembering the earlier conversation she’d overheard with Buffy Summers - something about breaking up with a man called Robin. Was this Slayer’s involvement with Richard behind that? She sighed: she’d thought she’d left all the complications of the Unturneds and their love lives behind her in California. There had been enough melodrama and pain in her world watching Spike falling for Buffy Summers. Tears welled up in her eyes again and she fought to prevent herself from vamping out. He was dead! Her dear friend, the one who had taught her so much was just dust blowing in the wind. But now wasn’t the time to think about Spike. 

“Personally, I’m a great believer in love,” she said firmly. “And if you love someone, then who and what they are and who they have loved in the past doesn’t matter.”

“Tell Robin that!” Faith muttered under her breath, but she looked a little less strained as she walked towards the door. “Suppose I’d better show my face upstairs, otherwise Buffy and Giles will freak out.”

Oh no, Agnes wondered if this night could get any worse - Mr Giles, the nice Englishman she’d met in Sunnydale, the one who’d eventually found out that she was a vampire, was here, too!

“Thanks for your help, Miss er.... Mrs...”

“Pringle, Miss. I have never married.”

Faith tried hard not to grin. That was obvious. If anyone had ‘spinster lady’ written all over them, it was this dumpy little librarian. Odd how she seemed to think she knew about love. She’d obviously never had any major problems in her nice cosy little life. “OK, then thank you, Miss Pringle. See you around.”

The door clicked behind her and Agnes drew a deep breath she didn’t need but, oddly, at times of stress, old habits died hard. Abandoning the cleaning equipment where it lay, she pulled on her raincoat and fled out of the Library, down the stairs and out of the house as if all the hounds of hell were after her, although they would have been far more welcome than the thought of Mr Giles and Buffy Summers seeing her and realising she was now living in England.

But it wasn’t until she was in the car and driving as carefully as she could out of Alresford, that she realised she’d left her nice pink brolly behind and sitting next to her on the passenger seat was a large, leather bound volume, the one she’d been clutching whilst she spoke to Faith. 

And although being thought of as a thief was distressing enough, Agnes was far more concerned that her name and address were printed on a little label sewn neatly on the inside of the pink frilled umbrella, because Spike had given it to her a year or so ago and she’d been terrified of losing it.

* * * * * *

One of the things Agnes had missed during her long stay in America was the annual church fete. When she’d ran her dear Willow Tree in Winchester, she’d always loved producing baked goods for the Women’s Institute cake stall and although certain members of the W.I. used to put their offerings in prominent positions and pushed hers all together at the back, Agnes knew hers tasted better and were always sold.

Since arriving back from America, Agnes had joined the local W.I. although she was, of course, only able to go to evening meetings when the sun had set. She always sat at the back and tried to be polite when people spoke to her, without giving away too much of her history. There were always curious questions about the children living with her, surely not hers, the query came with delicately raised eyebrows.

“Oh no. Their parents are travelling in South America, doing research in very out-of-the-way places, so I am taking care of them for a few months.”

Agnes knew only too well that this answer would only hold good for a little while: the children would grow no older - well, they were but so slowly that Unturneds would not notice - and then the rumours and gossip would start in earnest. Sometimes she wished dear Richard had bought her a house in the centre of a busy town. You could be so much more anonymous in a city. Sadly, as much as she enjoyed her life in the countryside, Agnes knew she would have to move them all within a few months time. 

The day of the village fete was held, in typical English style, at the end of a week of huge rain clouds, driven in from the West by a blustery wind. As the organisers ran in all directions, dismantling stalls and rebuilding them inside the Church Hall, sending the ponies for the pony rides back to their stables and the pig for guess the weight of the pig back to the farm, Agnes Pringle had to admit to being delighted. The children were all fast asleep and wouldn’t wake till late evening, and with dark skies overhead, it meant she could make her way to the hall and wander around to her heart’s content. She took a great pride in seeing the cakes she’d made the day before displayed and looking better than all the others. Thank goodness she’d remembered to use Unturneds recipes and not the blood flavoured ones that the children preferred.

But as she reached the hall door, her fifty pence entrance fee firmly in hand, the door was flung open and Mrs Payne, the President, appeared. “Ah, Miss Pringle! Just the person I need.”

“Me?” Agnes tried not to sound surprised. She was not the same Agnes Pringle who’d been terrified of the ladies whom she’d known in the past.

“Yes, we have a problem that I’m sure you can help us with. Mrs Foster - you know Mrs Foster?”

Agnes nodded - small, dark haired lady of a nervous disposition.

“She has had a very unfortunate happening. It seems she was attacked on the way here.”

“Oh my goodness! Is she all right?”

Mrs Payne, who was a great believer in stiff upper lips and getting on with things, nodded. “I believe so. But very distressing, I dare say. A youth, no more than a teenager apparently, obviously disturbed, something very wrong with his face. He tried to bite her. Really, what are the young of today coming to. I blame all these computer games.”

Agnes, who had no doubt that computer games had nothing to do with this lad’s actions nodded enthusiastically. “But Mrs Foster is all right?” she asked eagerly, wondering how she could discover if she might have a future vampire friend in the same W.I. That would be wonderful because, if she was honest, she did feel a little lonely sometimes. In Sunnydale there had been a thriving vampire community, customers coming into the shop, Spike and all his friends and the people she’d got involved with because of him. But here in England there was no one to talk to, except the children.

“Yes, some people driving past saw what was happening, screeched to a halt, leapt out of their car and came to her rescue. The young man vanished, scared of being arrested, of course, and Mrs Foster has gone home to recover. But - this means we do not have someone to run Madam Clara, the fortune teller’s stall. Unless you will step into the breach and help us out.”

And so an hour later, Agnes was sitting, draped in various scarves and ornamental chains in a little tented enclosure at one end of the hall. She had to admit she’d quite enjoyed talking to her first few customers - everyone realised it was just for fun, of course, and Agnes gave out lots of information about tall dark strangers, unexpected babies (that was a little tricky as the woman in front of her had gone very pale and rushed out) and vast riches arriving by post.

She was just sitting back, sipping a welcome cup of tea and munching on a rock cake that wasn’t nearly as tasty as the ones she made, when voices just outside the tent flap made her hand jolt and the tea spill into the saucer.

“I know it’s a nuisance, Buffy, but I hit something when I braked so hard and the garage can’t repair it for an hour or two. At least we’re indoors, out of the rain and can get a nice cup of tea and - oh look - iced buns over there.”

“Giles!”

Yes, Agnes had been right. The Slayer was here, in the church hall, right outside the fortune telling tent. “Is there nothing you wouldn’t do for a cup of tea? You seem to have drunk gallons of the stuff since we arrived in England.”

“Just making up for lost time.”

“Well, I might have one of those cream doughnuts if you’ve got the patience to stand in line for it.”

“Buffy, in this country, we learn to stand in queues in our prams! Oh look! Madam Clara Will Tell Your Future! That sounds like fun. Why don’t you go in and have your fortune told while you’re waiting for me.”

Agnes bit back another squeak and pulled the fancy green and gold scarf she was wearing right down over her forehead until it nearly touched her nose. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not twice in such a short time.

“Giles, the last thing I need to hear is my fortune. And I so need a shower - I’m covered in vamp dust from that last guy.”

“I know. It was lucky we were passing or that poor woman would have been slaughtered. Some vampires don’t have the brains they died with. I wonder if he’d just been turned - must have had very little sense - attacking someone that close to the road.”

Agnes snorted gently: that applied to young Unturneds as well. Everyone had to learn somewhere, somehow. She felt sad for the young man dusted just as he was setting out on his unlife. This was one of the things she was determined to do: educate the children in her care so they had a better chance of surviving in this cruel world.

Suddenly, the flap to the stall opening lifted and Buffy Summers came in, smiling brightly. And Agnes could see immediately what that girl Faith had meant that night in the Watcher Library. The smile was bright, the Slayer looked fit and well, long blonde hair, close fitting black top and red jeans, at first glance all was well. But Agnes could see that the smile was too bright, her shoulders tense and the happy air was a bright hard shell that concealed something - something - Agnes glanced closely into the Slayer’s eyes and the word that crossed her mind was - despair. 

She glanced down quickly; they had met in Sunnydale, of course, but only briefly in the horror that had been the non-reception for Anya’s wedding, and surely the Slayer wouldn’t be expecting to bump into a vampire at a Women’s Institute fete? 

Buffy wrinkled her nose: jeez, she could smell vamp. That boy’s dust was still clinging to her hair and skin.

“So would you like to know your fortune?” Agnes managed to say without stammering.

The American girl sat down opposite her, laughed, and held out her hand, palm upwards. “Yes, OK, tell me what’s going to happen?”

Agnes felt faint. There was no way she was going to actually touch a Slayer. “I don’t read palms,” she said. “I...I look into this crystal ball and tell you what I see.”

Buffy leant back in the chair, her bright smile even wider. “Go for it, then.”

“Travel - you’ve travelled from afar.”

“Hey, American accent. Good guess!”

Agnes stared into the glass globe in front of her, ignoring the cynicism in the girl’s voice. “I can see a hot country, lots of sunshine...a man...”

“Tall, dark and handsome?”

“Yes.” Agnes stared harder and heard herself saying, “You’re dancing...someone’s watching you...someone isn’t pleased.” She blinked; goodness, where had that come from? She knew her grandmother, Granny Pringle, had told fortunes - indeed some people had called the old dear a witch. Had she inherited a touch of her talent?

Buffy sighed silently. She had far too much knowledge about witchcraft and magic to be taken in by this amateur. But the money she’d handed over did go to charity and Giles would expect her to enjoy herself and have fun. Everyone expected her to have fun these days. She caught them glancing at her when they thought she wasn’t looking - checking, worried, then relieved when they saw her smile. She was better than a win on the Lottery for cheering up people. Faith was the only person who suspected and she had her own problems.

“So, Madam Clara, what can you tell me about my life? Anything exciting about to happen?”

Agnes gulped and wished fervently that she’d stayed in bed. Well, it was her own fault - pride goeth before a fall - that was the old saying - and if she hadn’t been so full of her own importance, thinking her cakes might win a prize, then she wouldn’t have been here today. “I see a very interesting life ahead of you,” she prevaricated. “Indeed, you have had an interesting past.” She pulled her scarf closer across her face and muttered gently, “You have lost people close to you. That has hurt you deeply.”

Buffy’s set smile faded a little. “My mother died - suddenly. It was...a shock. ”

“That’s very sad.” Agnes’ voice softened. She’d liked Joyce Summers so much in the short time she’d known her. She was only too aware how devastated Buffy and Dawn had been. “And I see a man passing, too. Very suddenly as well.” She knew she shouldn’t, but this was such a good opportunity to find out what had happened to Spike. “I can see a fight - some sort of struggle...” She was trying her hardest to ease some information from the Slayer. Surely Spike must have died in a fight: unless he’d managed to kill himself in some sort of stupid road accident, which when you considered the way he drove a car, was not out of the question.

“Some sort of struggle?” For a second Buffy’s smile became genuine and warmth flooded across her face. “Yes, you could certainly call it that. This guy, he died saving other people. Lots of other people.”

“He sounds very brave.” Agnes tried to keep her voice from wobbling, but it was difficult. This was Spike they were talking about, the vampire who’d been her dearest friend during her early, difficult days in Sunnydale. She could remember how nice he’d been to her when she was still running her little tea-stall in the town garbage dump. It was so hard to think of him as dead. She couldn’t believe it. Spike was too...too...stubborn! to die.

“Yes, he was brave.” Buffy clasped her hands together and gazed down at them, picturing the flames that had burnt around the fingers that had been clasped so tightly by Spike - flames that had left no mark on her skin, but inflicted scars on her soul. “They were all brave - everyone who died.”

Agnes flinched, then coughed hurriedly to hide her concern. “That sounds as there must have been some dreadful accident. Oh, yes, I can see in the orb now - a dreadful earthquake. You were there. That must have been so difficult, especially if you lost friends but survived yourself. And if you lost someone you loved very much, then it must be hard to accept he has gone.”

Buffy forgot to be cynical, to remark that the Sunnydale catastrophe had been on TV and in all the newspapers: the English lady’s voice was soft and sympathetic and she’d summed up the situation very clearly. Lost friends - a lost lover - for the first she felt guilt - oh not for surviving, that was what Slayers tried to do, but for the deaths of others. But for her lost lover - she was so proud of what he had done, devastated at his dying and wracked with the pain of an anger that never eased. How dare he go! How dare he die when she needed him so much? OK, Spike hadn’t left her in the same way as the other men in her life, but hey, still not there! Whatever evil fairy had kissed her at birth, she’d done a very good job of making sure no man ever stayed with Buffy Summers.

And this silly English fortune-teller in this damp, stuffy church hall was the first person who had given her any sympathy. Jeez, how odd was that? Odd but comforting. She realised suddenly that behind the chiffon scarf that was still drawn across the woman’s face, tears were glistening.

“Hey - please don’t get upset. It’s all in the past now. Nothing can hurt me again.” Feeling dreadful, because she shouldn’t have started talking about death and disaster to some little woman who’d probably never had to face a problem in her life, she jumped up and shook back her hair. “Look - I’m smiling. I’m OK. Off to Italy in a few days. My sister is going to school out there and I’ll be very busy - looking after Dawn, that’s my sister, getting on with my life. So all good.”

Agnes gazed up at her through the gauzy veil and sighed. The bright, shiny barrier was up once more and the real Buffy Summers, the one she could have seen Spike falling in love with, had disappeared and perhaps would never be seen again. Not unless Spike came back from the dead and how many times did that happen in a vampire’s life?

Just then there was a scuffling outside and the flap of the tent lifted. Rupert Giles thrust his head through the opening. “Oh do excuse me. I’m so sorry to interrupt but, Buffy, we’re needed urgently.”

“Giles - this is Madam Clara who’s been very kind and - ”

“I’m sure - but Buffy there’s another - gentleman! - like the one we met earlier - and I really want you to meet him!”

Buffy sighed: she knew exactly what that meant. “OK, Giles. On my way.” She turned back to Agnes. “Thank you, Madam Clara. You’ve been very kind. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

She held out her hand but Agnes managed to get hers tangled up in the drapery and scarves she was wearing and as Giles urged Buffy to hurry, the Slayer smiled and vanished out into the busy church hall.

All Agnes wanted to do was go home, make herself a nice cup of tea and sit with a buttered scone, remembering her friend who had died, obviously bravely - well, she never doubted that. He had taught her to think for herself in their weird vampire world and although their paths had parted when he, for some odd reason, had fallen in love with Buffy Summers, she knew she was glad to have known him. But she couldn’t leave the fete just yet. There was a queue of people outside, waiting to pay their fifty pence and hear their fortunes. So Agnes chatted on about romantic meetings, lottery wins, new cars and promotions at work and tried to forget about Spike, Buffy Summers and Mr Giles. She didn’t have to worry about a Slayer living nearby - the girl was off to Italy. That was a relief.

Eventually the long day was over and Agnes made her way home through the woods where rain dripped off the leaves and she wished she hadn’t lost her pink umbrella in Alresford. At least, she thought, life could get back to normal now. She would find a new home in a town, give the children wider horizons and continue with her search on how to raise vampire youngsters.

Perhaps her walk home would not have been so peaceful if she had known that Rupert Giles, driving Buffy to the airport, was plagued by the irritation of knowing he had seen the fortune teller before and not being able to recall where. For some reason it seemed very important that he did remember.

 

tbc


	2. A Dark Force Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes Pringle - Spike's tea-room friend from The Replacement, has arrived in England. Following a close encounter with Buffy, Faith and Giles, she is determined to live very quietly and stay out of trouble!

A Nice Little Business by Lilachigh

 

Chapter Two: A Dark Force Rises

 

The light from the setting sun edged its way past the chink in the blinds of Rupert Giles’ penthouse apartment overlooking the Thames. It splintered into a myriad of rainbow colours and Buffy instinctively put up a hand to shield her eyes, to blot out a picture of scarlet and orange flames, shot with gold and green and purple; burning, consuming, fusing two hands together forever except that forever had only been a matter of seconds. Not a long time, just an eternity.

“Buffy! Pay attention.” Giles rapped on the table in exasperation. The Slayer just wasn’t on her game at the moment; drifting away into day-dreams at the least excuse. He knew why, of course. They all did. And it wasn’t even the fact that Spike had been alive after the First had destroyed Sunnydale - although goodness knows why the Powers that Be had deemed that a fit and proper thing to do - that caused her thoughts to be elsewhere most of the time. No, it was that he’d been alive but had made no effort to find her, to claim the woman he’d said he loved before he died again, this time for good.

“Sorry, Giles. I was just....”

“Buffy, I know it’s a complicated situation and we all understand...”

“What I don’t understand,” Willow broke in. “is why you wouldn’t let me go across to the States and tell Spike exactly what we thought of him. I could have told Angel at the same time!”

Buffy found the fake smile that came in so useful these days: the one she wore when she visited Dawn who’d arrived in England from Italy and been accepted into an English college; the same one she fixed on her face when counselling all the Potentials who’d just become Slayers across Europe. She bit back a sigh: sighing was bad; sighing led to questions and pity and condemnation and made her head feel it was about to explode.

“It was a great idea, Will, but let’s face it, they were obviously far happier living and working together rather than getting in touch, so why try and break up the happy home.”

“But Buffy - ”

“Will, there was always a weird connection between them - a sort of love, icky as that might seem. Now they’ve died together, so - the end!”

Willow ruffled her short red hair and frowned. She was about to retort about Buffy’s use of the word to describe love between two guys, then glanced down and saw that although she was smiling brightly, Buffy’s hands were clenched so tightly that she could see the blood pulsing in the veins under the skin.

“Right, let’s get back to business.” Giles tapped the file of papers in front of him. 

Buffy cast her mind back desperately and pulled the words out of her memory. “You were saying about some mega demon force working here in England. Not another First, surely? I mean we defeated him, what with the earthquake and death and......(burning flames)....and all.”

Giles nodded. “You’re quite right. Not another First! But someone very strong, very powerful and very evil.”

“Sounds like a real prince.”

“Buffy, you must take this seriously.”

“Giles, I am being serious - just tell me where and when and I’ll go kill him!”

Giles stood up abruptly and walked to the window, pulling back the blinds to let the dying sunlight flood into the room, bathing everything in a deep red light. Since Buffy had come to England from Italy to be closer to Dawn, he’d tried to get her involved in all the extra work the new Slayers created but with little success. He’d hoped that having Faith visit would awaken some sort of Slayer jealousy, that Buffy would be keen to patrol, to train, to be the old Slayer again. But now Faith had gone back to the States and he was left with a growing demon problem, a multitude of half-trained girls and one bored Slayer whose mind was constantly elsewhere.

He pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think we all know and agree that vampires and demons are usually the most disorganised creatures on earth. They rise, we hunt them, we stake them. But recently that has all changed. Vampires seem to be swiftly vanishing from all their usual haunts and reappearing in an area where the Slayer situation is still in its infancy. And the more they group together, the more powerful and dangerous they become.”

Against her will, Buffy found herself interested. “So they’re forming what - little armies?”

Giles sat back opposite her and nodded. “Exactly. And we don’t have the sort of organisation yet to deal with that. We’ve lost three new Slayers in the past week! Three, Buffy. Three little girls who’d only just been trained. They could have dealt with one or two vampires quite easily, but not ten or twenty working together.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Someone, something is organising them. Some very Big Bad is sitting in the middle of the web, pulling the strings and it’s our job to stop it.”

Buffy tilted back her chair at a dangerous angle. “No problem, Giles. Don’t worry. We’ll find the head of the gang and just cut it off!” And she smiled again, picturing in her mind a terrifying, skull like creature, fangs dripping blood from its lipless mouth and she knew she’d found an opponent worthy of her skills......

 

.......a few hundred miles away, a vampire who wasn’t quite a Big Bad was though, quite rightly, in the middle of a spider’s web, standing perilously on a chair, dusting away the silvery threads with a long feather tipped brush, and worrying about what she could give the guests for dinner that night. The biggest difficulty was feeding a vegetarian vampire, whom, poor dear, suffered dreadful hunger pangs all the time because she was determined to stick to her principles, newly Turned or not. Luckily Agnes Pringle had remembered that Guiness beer was full of iron and although she did not approve of strong drink, she hoped she’d be forgiven for buying several bottles every day for this particular young lady vamp.

Agnes pushed a particularly hairy spider to one side and watched as it ran across the ceiling and vanished behind a picture. She had no desire to kill the poor creature, just to tidy up the dining-room. She could remember her dear old Granny chanting, “If you want to live and thrive, let a spider run alive.”

“Which is all very well, but not if they fall into the soup bowls,” Agnes sighed to herself and carefully descended from the chair.

Crossing to the window, she peeped out from behind the heavy red velvet curtains, gazing along the quiet street where the lamps made golden pools of light on the wet pavements. She was still finding it odd to live in a country where it rained so frequently. She obviously didn’t miss the hot Californian sunshine, but those long warm nights when you could roam about without a cardigan - although to be fair she never did because, being English, you never really trusted warm weather to stay warm - were now only a distant dream.

Sometimes she wondered if all those years spent in Sunnydale had been real - her friendship with Spike, her lovely Willow Tree Tea Shoppe, her demon and vampire friends. Now they had all gone - in some dreadful earthquake. Sadly the Slayer had survived and Agnes still shuddered to remember how close she’d come to being discovered here in England by Buffy Summers earlier in the year. 

It had been a very upsetting time since then. Learning, to her joy, that Spike was still alive and then hearing that he’d died again in Los Angeles had left her weary and sad. And then she’d had her accident. Even now she didn’t like to remember the blaring car horn, the screech of tyres on a dark, wet road and the odd feeling of flying as she was hurtled through the air. Luckily she didn’t remember landing, hitting her head against a tree and breaking several bones, which, of course, being a vampire, had mended fairly swiftly. But her head wound had taken much longer - she’d apparently drifted in and out of consciousness for almost two weeks and when she finally came back to reality, she discovered a lot had changed.

By some miracle, the driver of the car had proved to be a very charming gentleman who, although not a demon as such, seemed quite at ease in her world. He’d picked her up from the ditch where she landed and taken her home with him. Agnes shuddered to think what would have happened if an ordinary ambulance had driven her to hospital: she would probably have been dead as soon as the morning sunlight came cascading through the ward windows, if the doctors hadn’t discovered her secret before then.

No, she’d been allowed to recover in a nice, dark room and fed the very best blood available. She worried that when she’d been unconscious it might not have been pig, but then that truly was Not her Fault. Once she was awake enough to made her preference clear, then pure pig had been delivered to her three times a day, in a very pretty china tea-cup with matching saucer.

So she was grateful to all the Powers that Be to still be alive, or dead but not defeated as she preferred to think of the vampire state. But - and it was a big but - things had changed completely in her world whilst she was lying unconscious. The nice people at Wolfram & Hart (English branch) had stepped in and taken over - although she wasn’t at all certain how they’d known about her accident. She didn’t like to think they were actually spying on her, but it was very odd how they turned up at all the most traumatic moments of her existence, almost as if Dear Richard, who had been dead for so many years now, was still keeping watch over her.

A young lady demon had visited her and explained that the children whom Agnes had rescued from Sunnydale and had been fretting about from the second she regained her wits, had been taken into care and distributed around various vampire couples who were, of course, unable to have families of their own and so only too happy to take in orphans.

Agnes had been bereft for a few days: she’d thought that that was what she’d been spared for when she escaped from Sunnydale just before the town had been swallowed up. To be a parent to the motley little crew who had somehow grown attached to her. But obviously not. She would have preferred to check out these people who'd adopted her children, but that, apparently, wasn't allowed.

She’d lain awake all one long day, feeling sorry for herself - no Spike, no children, no reason to go on. No one in the whole wide world wanted or needed her. It was enough to make even a usually optimistic vampire feel very sad. She didn’t want to go back to the cottage in the New Forest that Dear Richard had provided for her. It held too many memories, and if she was strictly honest, she thought it might also be damp.

Then, just when she’d decided to throw open the curtains and end it all in a blaze of sunlight, the nice gentleman who’d rescued her, had knocked on her door, sat by the side of her bed and made an interesting proposition. He told her he owned the small hotel in which she was now living. It was used as a staging post by vampires and demons as they moved across country, escaping from Slayers and demon killers and other undesirables. He badly needed a manageress who could cook simple, healthy, blood based meals and would not be worried by some of the more bizarre requests from demons whose dietary requirements needed to wriggle and crawl.

Agnes had sat up in bed, wincing as pain shot through her head. “How interesting. And what a clever idea. Like being in the French Resistance in the last war, helping British airmen to escape back to England!”

Her saviour smiled warmly. “Yes, Agnes, just like that. But be warned, it’ll be dangerous work but think of the rewards!”

Agnes had felt the chilly glow of unlife returning. She was needed after all. This was the path that the Powers that Be had marked out for her. If she could help in this essential work in some little way, then she would be happy and contented. And surely even Dear Richard would have been pleased about that.

Now, several weeks later, Agnes was as busy as ever, running the hotel. She’d met such a nice collection of vampires and demons, although she couldn’t quite work out where they were all heading in such a hurry. She was in the kitchen, slicing the raw beef, mixing blood gravy and trying to keep the live puddings from escaping their pastry cases when the door opened.

“Ah Agnes, busy as usual, I see. What would I do without you.”

She turned and smiled. “We have a full guest list tonight, so yes. Always lots to do.”

“Listen, Agnes, no one’s been hanging around the hotel who shouldn’t be here, have they? Asking for work, perhaps? Wanting a room for the night and not believing you when you tell them we’re fully booked?”

Agnes frowned. “No - no one. Why?”

A slim hand slid over her shoulder, popped the top off a pastry case and flicked its wriggling occupant into his mouth. “Rumours, dear Agnes. Dark rumours. I’ve heard on the grapevine that Buffy Summers herself, the oldest Slayer still around, has heard of our little venture. But you would recognise her, wouldn’t you, if you saw her?”

Agnes gulped and sat down suddenly at the kitchen table. Buffy Summers! Oh yes, she’d recognise her, all right.

“So, be on your guard, night and day. She’s very dangerous and could cause us immense harm. Now, I must go and call our guests down for dinner. It all smells wonderful.”

And with another enchanting smile, Mr Ethan Rayne, master wizard and licensed hotel owner, patted her on the shoulder and walked away.

 

tbc


	3. It's an Apocalypse!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Agnes is working for Ethan Rayne in England, helping him to run a hotel for vampires escaping from Slayers. Buffy has told Giles she will certainly track down and kill the big bad and Spike - well Spike's dead, isn't he - remember the dragon?

A Nice Little Business by Lilachigh

 

Chapter Three: It’s an Apocalypse!

Ever afterwards - especially in those horrid, bright, noon days when the curtains never seemed thick enough to keep out the sunlight - Agnes was forced to admit that everything that happened was Her Fault. As she’d tried to explain once to a very bewildered vampire friend, you could trace the events back to sausages.

After years living in America where sausages usually meant hot dogs - an expression she had always found odd, because a chilli dog was not, apparently, the complete opposite - Agnes had revelled in making proper British sausages for the guests in Mr Rayne’s hotel. Demons and vampires loved sausages, especially with the special ingredients, alive and dead, that Agnes added to her bloody pork and beef mixtures.

And, no excuse, but she’d been very tired that day. Not only was she doing all the cooking, but the vampire - a nice girl called Tracey - who’d been the housemaid and waited on the tables at meal times - had vanished. Hopefully, Agnes told herself, not into thin air. Mr Rayne had made no effort to recruit extra staff, so everything fell on her shoulders. In fact these days he wasn’t quite as charming and friendly as he’d been when he’d rescued her after her accident. 

The hotel had been extra busy - groups of demons coming and going - and not all of them the most friendliest she had ever met. Even some of the vampires that had passed through recently had been the type of person she would have crossed the street to avoid. (Agnes could see no reason why being a vampire meant you neglected personal hygiene.) The group staying at present were leaving at midnight, thank goodness, because their language and manners left a lot to be desired - she knew she would have great difficulty in getting the dropped, spattered blood out of the tablecloths.

She was confused by her unlife at the moment and wished desperately that there was someone she could ask for advice. That was where Spike, for all his faults, had been so useful. Even if she’d disagreed with what he said - and towards the end of their time in Sunnydale he had had some very odd, unvampiric ideas - he had been a good shoulder to lean on. Well, well, those days were long gone and she was a far tougher vampire than she used to be. Although she had to admit that although standing on your own two feet was a good rule to live by, it did get very tiring. 

Even her nice little bedroom on the other side of the kitchen had been taken away from her and given to very small, evil looking demon who would only eat with human bone knives and forks which were very expensive to buy and did not do well in the dishwasher. Agnes had had to move all her possession out into a little caravan at the end of the hotel grounds, just behind the garages. But she wouldn’t even have minded that if she’d thought her life still had some meaning.

Agnes had thought helping Mr Rayne save vampire lives would be a useful role to play since the children she’d cared for and brought over from America to England had been adopted elsewhere. But...these people weren’t the poor and helpless, oppressed vamps and demons she’d thought would be involved. These certainly weren’t victims of the upsurge in Slayers that had been happening all over the country recently. In fact she’d even heard one of them boasting that they’d killed two young Slayers only a few days ago.

Mr Rayne had jerked his head to where Agnes was serving the meal and told him to be quiet. And the expression on his face made the vampire go silent very quickly. But then there was never usually a great deal of talk around the dining-table. It was almost as if Mr Rayne and his friends were anxious she shouldn’t know where they were going or what they were going to do.

As soon as she’d served the dinner and cleared away the blood stained plates afterwards, Mr Rayne always closed the door firmly behind her. At first Agnes had been upset that he’d even thought she might listen to private conversations, but then she realised that he probably had her best interests at heart. If she was captured by the Slayer sometime in the future, and tortured in some awful human fashion, she would not be able to tell them anything she didn’t know!

There was more ample proof of that, of course. Upstairs, in the attic rooms of the hotel, was a mysterious guest, whom Agnes had never seen. Whoever it was had arrived a few days ago and Mr Rayne had made it very clear that she was not to ask questions about the new visitor. He would take up little meals of fresh blood and deal with the VIV himself. She had an idea that it was a relation of some sort of Mr Rayne who maybe wasn’t dealing too well with being recently turned. Admittedly, although her turning in Los Angeles all those years ago had Not Been Her Fault, it had still been traumatic and she had every sympathy with the poor vampire as he or she recovered their wits and began to understand their new life.

The group of vampires who were passing through the hotel this week had no trouble at all with the life style. Although Agnes had to admit that the death of any Slayer was the cause for rejoicing, she had the feeling as she listened to the tales that they hadn’t been particularly fair fights. She knew Spike had killed two Slayers in his checkered past, but she also knew that his feelings - she might even call it love - for Buffy Summers, would have made this situation very difficult for him. 

Agnes sighed. Perhaps it was a good thing he had died in Los Angeles on that dreadful Night of the Dragons as it was now officially known. And always, at the back of her mind, was the worry about the young American girl. Agnes had been appalled when Mr Rayne told her the Slayer might be coming in search of them. Why on earth couldn’t she have gone back to America where she belonged? Agnes felt it was very unfair to have to suffer Buffy Summers on this side of the Atlantic having lived under her shadow in Sunnydale for so long.

So with all the worry and weariness, Agnes later felt it wasn’t surprising that things went very wrong that evening. The sausages were frying in their pan, sizzling away, filling the kitchen with nice blood tinged smells but she’d been a little late in starting them cooking; too busy thinking about Spike and how she missed him. She reckoned there was only just time for them to finish before the group of vampires gathered in the dining-room were ready to leave the hotel and travel on to wherever Mr Rayne took them. Half-cooked sausages could be dangerous, even to demons and vampires, so she decided it would do no harm just to knock on the dining-room door and ask them to delay leaving for ten minutes or so and then their travel snacks would be quite ready.

But as she reached the main hall, the door was flung open and she could hear angry words being exchanged. A tall, dark haired vampire, dressed in leather, his face covered in very painful looking piercings, stormed out of the dining-room, then turned and strode back in.

Agnes hesitated. The argument was still continuing, although it didn’t seem to be quite so heated. Perhaps if she just quietly went in and spoke to Mr Rayne.....she tiptoed up to the entrance, raised her hand to knock politely, then hesitated. Her boss was speaking, his voice cold and direct, not an ounce of charm or old-school manners to be heard.

“It’s my decision and it’s final. There are not enough of us yet. There are Slayers all over the country. I need an army of vampires to fight them, not just a few.”

“Can’t just sit around waiting for action!”

“You can always leave.” Mr Rayne’s voice now had a touch of ice.

“And go where?”

“That’s not my decision, it’s yours. I thought you all wanted to be part of the uprising.”

“We do, boss. But when is it going to happen. We need blood. We need to hear the screams and see the mayhem and chaos. Not be stuck in this poxy hotel or wherever else you’re going to put us.”

There was silence, then a grunt, a few startled yells and the faint sound of a large cloud of dust exploding into the air. “Now, any one else got a problem with my plans? No, right. Then let’s go. I’ve a revolution to organise.”

Agnes froze, then squeaked in terror. She had no doubt what would happen to her if Mr Rayne found her listening outside the door - exactly what had happened to the vampire who’d spoken up. She spun round - there was no time to get back to the kitchen and the stairs were too open - but, right next to her was a large oak blanket chest, heavily carved, a relic of happier days. Moving faster than she’d ever moved before, Agnes lifted the lid and climbed inside, pulling it almost shut behind her and devoutly hoping the old lock didn’t still work.

Muffled by the thick wood, she heard footsteps, the mumble of voices, then the front door banging shut and, very faintly, the sound of Mr Rayne’s big car being driven away.

For long minutes Agnes crouched on all fours, curled up like a dormouse, too scared to move. But eventually the aches in her knees and hips forced her to push up the chest lid and peer round the empty hall. She scrambled out and sat on the chest, her head buried in her hands, her thoughts whirling. Mr Rayne wanted to start a revolution! That was the main thing she’d learnt. The vampires she’d been helping weren’t escaping from some undisclosed terror, they were being gathered together to fight the Slayers.

“Which is bad on so many levels,” Agnes whispered to herself. She was well aware that vampires could cause an enormous amount of damage in a fight, but eventually the power of the Slayers would prevail and they would all die. And in the meantime they would have drawn the attention of the human world onto peaceful vampires and demons who just wanted to live out what remained of their unlives in quiet seclusion. “We’ll all be wiped out. The Slayers won’t let any of us survive. It’s an apocalypse!”

Agnes coughed suddenly. Oh no, she was not catching a cold! Vampires didn’t catch colds. She coughed again, then realised why. The hall was full of smoke and in the distance she could hear the distinct crackling of fire.

And she knew. Even before she ran back to the kitchen and coughing and choking opened the door enough to see bright flames leaping up the walls, greedily consuming the old wooden beams and the floorboards of the room above, she knew. She’d left the frying pan of sausages on a high flame to hurry them along and somehow the grease had spat and spilt and the hotel was now ablaze! 

Pulling off her apron, she threw it over her head and turned to run - then hesitated. Mr Rayne’s relation was still upstairs! Would they smell the smoke? What if they were too weak or ill to get out of bed? They would die just as if the Slayer herself had staked them. Eyes burning, her chest heaving, Agnes forced herself up the stairs. The very top landing was a little clearer but the sound of the flames roaring could now be heard coming closer and closer. There was the door to the attic room and as she hammered on it, shouting a warning, it was pulled open abruptly from the other side.

Agnes catapulted into the room and fell on the floor. Gasping as the smoke caught her throat again, she gazed up and found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes she’d never thought she’d ever see again!

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not complete but site refusing to let me alter the box that says it is finished!


	4. Finding Spike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes Pringle, Spike's vampire friend, is back in England, working as cook/housekeeper for a certain Ethan Rayne. But unfortunately, she has managed to set fire to his hotel and whilst trying to rescue one of the guests, discovers someone she thought she would never see again.

A Nice Little Business by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 4: Finding Spike

 

“Spike!” His name sounded more as a wheeze than a word. Agnes tried again as a thin, white hand reached down and pulled her effortlessly to her feet. “You’re...you’re alive!”

His mouth, marred now by a scar that ran diagonally from his top lip to his chin, twisted into what she hoped was a smile. “No, still dead! Agnes Pringle, bloody wondering hell. I thought you were dust a long time ago. And by the look of the smouldering bits of wood in your hair, you will be very soon!” He brushed off the fiery sparks, slammed the door shut against the hungry flames and pulled Agnes towards the window.

“Spike, we’re three floors up!”

“Well, we’re not getting down the stairs, are we?” 

His booted foot sent glass shattering out into the night and before Agnes could even start to object, she found herself picked up and flying....flying....flying through the air...and then everything went black.

Her sense of smell came back before anything else - her nose seemed to be buried in a thick, dusty cloth and she sneezed violently, then moaned as pain shot across her head. Her hearing came back with a rush and she could hear the chug of her camper-van engine and realised someone was driving it. She lay very still - she was being kidnapped, obviously, although she was a realistic enough vampire to reckon that it was the van they wanted, and not a short, plumpish, middle-aged vampire lady. So if she kept quiet, then perhaps they would just leave her alone because her head ached too much to consider having to use her fangs to survive.

Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she suddenly recalled the silliest dream she’d just had before....well, before someone obviously hit her over the head - she’d dreamt that Spike was alive and living upstairs in Mr Rayne’s hotel and she’d seen him when the hotel caught fire. How ridiculous was that?! She’d heard through the vampire grapevine that tragically her friend had been dusted in the Great Dragon Apocalypse, along with so many others. And, she thought muzzily, as the rocking of the camper-van made her feel slightly sick, she’d never really forgiven him for not letting her know he was alive when he’d somehow survived the Sunnydale earthquake. Agnes knew she owed her own unlife existence to dear Richard who had come as a sort of vision one night and warned her to leave Sunnydale immediately.

“Aggie - open your bloody eyes and speak to me. You’re not badly hurt.”

“Spike!” She fought through the headache and struggled to sit up. She was lying on the seat behind the driver and there was no mistaking those platinum curls or the slim, leather covered shoulders. “What’s happening? How can you be here? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? Bloody hell, Aggie, neither do I. I thought you were dust long ago. And here you are in England.”

“The hotel - “

“Gone. Burnt to the ground by now. You banged your head on the window frame when we jumped. I reckoned we’d be best far, far away from there and luckily, the keys to the van were in the ignition. I didn’t realise until I looked around the place that it was where you’d been living.”

“Oh. But - ”

“Time for explanations later on. We need somewhere to stay. Ethan isn’t going to be too happy when he finds his hotel in ruins. He’ll probably blame me.”

She stared out of the window, peering for signposts. Thinking clearly seemed to be a little problem at the moment - she felt she was still living inside some sort of weird dream. Spike alive: Spike driving her camper-van: Spike rescuing her from a burning building. Agnes knew she had a romantic streak that she tried valiantly to suppress because vampires were certainly not expected to harbour gentle thoughts, but even in her wildest imaginings since she’d heard of her friend’s final departure from this world, had she thought of a situation like this.

“Turn left, into the woods. I have a house. We can stay there.”

“A house? Blimey, you’ve come up in the world a bit, Aggie. You had the back room of Willie’s bar and then a little tearoom in Sunnydale. A house in England? Come into money, did you?”

“It was a gift - from an old friend,” Agnes murmured. She didn’t feel like telling Spike about Dear Richard’s helpful gesture that had meant she had somewhere to go with the vampire children she had saved from Sunnydale. It wasn’t that she wasn’t overjoyed to see him again, of course, but for the last few months they had been friends, they had had little in common. She had never understood his obsession with the Slayer - oh! A shudder ran up her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck twitched as they always did when Buffy Summers was around. Fearfully, she peered round the interior of the van, but of course there was no one there.

“Second on the right - “

“And straight on till morning!” Spike grinned and swung the van round a tight corner, narrowly missing a car coming in the other direction, the beam from the headlights bouncing off bare tree branches and frost covered bushes. At last the van lurched up the frosty track leading from the road and came to a halt outside Agnes’ house. Dear Richard had called it a country cottage when he put it in her name, a retreat from the dangers of life in America. Agnes had been forced to admit that her idea of a cottage and the Mayor’s were slightly different. Hers had a thatched roof and roses trailing round a little wooden door. This building was more like a small manor house, built from rosy red bricks at the height of the first Elizabeth’s reign and lovingly looked after for centuries until the last owner had sold it to a nice American gentleman who had promptly ordered the builders to install central heating and double glazing.

“Posh place, Aggie.”

“It’s far too big for me now the children have gone. Do you remember them, Spike? Vampire children who had lost their parents? They’ve all been adopted except for a couple of the bigger boys who wanted to live on their own. They could have done with a few pointers from you on how to survive.”

Spike was silent at the tone of injured admonishment in her voice and watched as she scrabbled under a hideous plaster gnome for the front door key. His memories of those few months in Sunnydale when he and Buffy had been - well, whatever it had been was long gone now. He could vaguely remember Agnes asking him for help on several occasions and deciding he would do it later....well, no use worrying about it now. Those days were long gone.

It was bitterly cold and he waited on the step until Agnes remembered she had to ask him in. An hour later they were sitting in the big kitchen, the walls still decorated with the crayoned drawings the vampire children had done, showing lots of humans being eaten by jolly looking vamps - the red crayons were always the ones that got used up first. Somewhere a boiler was pumping heat into the radiators and the house was warming up. Agnes had delved into the freezer and they were drinking tea and eating buttered crumpets with dried ox blood sprinkled on top as decoration.

“So, are you going to tell me what you were doing staying with Mr Rayne? And why none of your friends know you survived. I still get a Christmas card from Clem, you know. He’s never forgotten you. He went through a very bad patch when he thought you’d been eaten by a dragon. I heard he almost turned to drink!”

Spike wiped melted butter off his chin. How could he possibly explain how he’d felt - afterwards? How he’d gained his senses to find himself lying curled up ignominiously in a doorway with half a ton of dead dragon shielding him from the end of the battle. He hadn’t even been badly injured, just suffered a knock on the head. It would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t been so terrifyingly beyond belief. The soul he’d fought for so hard had left him feeling deeply ashamed. His friends had died in pushing back the demons from Hell. Had they wondered where he was? He couldn’t remember killing the dragon - had that happened early on in the battle? Spike was filled with dread that they’d thought he’d run away, fled the scene, determined to save his own miserable skin. He’d found their bodies, or what was left of them. Except for Angel, of course. There was no sign of him and deep within Spike, he’d known that his best friend, worst enemy was still alive.

But he wasn’t there, not even a bloody arm or leg and Spike could still feel the overwhelming sense of betrayal that had flooded through him. He himself would never have left the scene until he’d discovered what had happened to Liam, but obviously when the fighting was finally over, Mr Broody had just taken off, doing his own thing. Probably headed back to his usual retreat in Tibet or some other sodding place out East. He’d always had a liking for the poxy Orient, although Spike could remember quite clearly that it had been Liam’s desire to visit China that had ended with him killing his first Slayer so not all bad.

He glanced to where Agnes was diligently pouring him out another cup of tea. It was one of unlife’s miracles that she had survived all these years. Vampires he’d known far brighter than her had perished but somehow this plump, stubborn Englishwoman defied all the odds. He had yet to hear what she was doing working for Ethan Rayne but of one thing he was quite certain - she obviously had no idea how evil that man was and there was no way Spike was going to tell her his own twisted reasons for getting involved.

“Oh I lost my memory for a while,” he said vaguely. “Wandered around a bit, wondering who I was, then realised I was English so headed over here to see if anything or anyone seemed familiar.”

“So you had forgotten - everyone?” Agnes asked cautiously, not wanting the words Buffy Summers to burn her lips.

Spike dropped several lumps of sugar into his tea and Agnes frowned. She knew he only sugared his drinks when he was worried about something. 

He stirred the bright brown mixture - Aggie’s tea was always the best - and tried not to think of the months he’d spent every waking moment thinking of the Slayer. Buffy had been there when he went to sleep, there when he fed on pig’s blood because he could still remember how much she hated him drinking human blood. She had been there the second he opened his eyes and during the long nights, it seemed something would remind him of her every few minutes. But then he’d finally had to accept that that life was gone for good. If he really loved her, he would wish her all the happiness in the world, hopefully a man who adored her and possibly even kids. The fact that he would cheerfully slaughter the said man was something he had to struggle with as well.

“Bits and pieces started to come back, odd memories - I...I wasn’t too well...” he was proud of that lie - “bumped into Rayne. I’d met him years ago, when Dru and I were in England. Weird bloke. He said he had a room I could use while I was getting better, as long as I kept a low profile. Of course, if I’d known you were in England, then I’d have looked for you, but, to be honest, I thought you were long dusted, Aggie, and I didn’t think I’d be the flavour of the month if I bounced back into some of my other friends’ lives, expecting a big welcome. Too much blood has flowed from too many veins for that to happen.”

Agnes buttered another crumpet. She was desperately tired and her head ached. It would be dawn very soon and she longed for her bed, although she had a nagging feeling that the sheets would be damp and she had no idea where she had put her cosy hot-water bottle.

“Mr Rayne,” she began tentatively, “Is he a good friend of yours?” She was torn between trusting Spike and telling him about the vampire revolution Ethan Rayne was planning and keeping quiet. It made her feel wobbly inside not to trust Spike, but those last few months they’d spent in Sunnydale had made her very wary.

“Ethan? A friend? No, Aggie, he’s not. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

Agnes felt a surge of relief. There hadn’t been much time between burning down the hotel, finding Spike alive and escaping to think about the vampire revolution, but she knew her immediate reaction had been the right one. Whatever Ethan Rayne planned, no matter how strong his army of vampires was, there were now so many Slayers around that any conflict could only lead to untold misery and death. She’d been worried about tackling this on her own, but now she had Spike and, settling back in her chair, she began to tell him what she’d overheard back at the hotel.

Several miles away on the outskirts of the New Forest, Buffy Summers drove into the parking lot of a little hotel. In the east the sky was getting lighter; she’d been driving around all night, trying to pin down the exact location of the Big Bad that Giles was convinced was working in this area. But apart from being passed by a fire engine and nearly being run off the road by a camper van a few hours earlier, nothing exciting had happened at all. Oh, she’d had her normal attack of what she called Spike-itis that happened when she was tired and her nerves insisted on reacting to distant memories of fire-wreathed hands instead of the empty here and now. And she was so tired, to the bone. All she wanted was a bed and five hours solid sleep. For some reason she was sure she would need to be at her best in the morning. She had the feeling that something unexpected was coming and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.

Buffy had never been very good at self analysis but she had to admit she’d been coasting for the past few months, finding it difficult to get interested in any of Giles’ big schemes and plans. And that was so not fair on her Watcher. He was doing his best and she was guilty of that cardinal Slayer sin, not caring whether she lived or died. Well, that was going to stop now. Any vampire that came anywhere near her was going to be dust.

She checked that her stakes were firmly in her belt and headed inside.

tbc


End file.
